


Champagne Problems

by sobachka



Series: Zoyalai Works [7]
Category: Nikolai Series - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dancing, F/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:20:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28055283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sobachka/pseuds/sobachka
Summary: The King and his General share a dance, and some feelings are uncovered.Based off Champagne Problems by Taylor Swift
Relationships: Nikolai Lantsov/Zoya Nazyalensky
Series: Zoyalai Works [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1789732
Comments: 8
Kudos: 43





	Champagne Problems

> _Because I dropped your hand while dancing_   
>  _Left you out there standing_   
>  _Crestfallen on the landing_   
>  _Champagne problems_   
>    
>  _You had a speech, you're speechless_   
>  _Love slipped beyond your reaches_   
>  _And I couldn't give a reason_   
>  _Champagne problems_

Zoya had not planned on dancing that night. 

She had even considered not attending at all, but she could not very well leave the Triumvirate to fend off on their own. _It’s a ball, not a battle_ , she tried to remind herself, but at some point, since the war had ended, the two had become nearly impossible to differentiate. She had to be as much on her guard now, keep a wary eye on the crowd, be prepared for anything.

It was as tiring as it was necessary.

There was also another, more personal duty, and that was to ensure the King was safe. Every ball, dinner, or trip was an opportunity for a Fjerdan spy, a Shu mercenary- Saints, even an angry Ravkan to take their aim at Nikolai. That was entirely the reason Zoya had spent the night watching him, subtly, keeping to corners of the ballroom and sipping champagne. It was also why she had refused the many offers to dance and stood alone now.

Nikolai seemed as carefree as ever, a free bird soaring through the skies as he went smoothly from laughing with dignitaries to dancing with just about every person willing, his smile never losing its warmth. Ravka really had gotten lucky with him. She could almost convince herself that he was happy, that his wrists didn’t require daily tailoring to hide the bruises that formed as he struggled to free himself of his chains every night. That he’d been the same since they met the Saints.

_Have you not changed as well?_

The rumble of Juris’ voice in her head was nearly indistinguishable from her own bitter thoughts. _Perhaps, but I’m not the King of Ravka_.

_You could be the Queen._

She was spared a response to the repetitive argument when a voice called out her name.

“Miss Nazyalensky!” 

Dread washed over her, and she fought a wince, downing the remnants of her glass as the owner appeared in front of her, smiling brightly.

Nikolai had asked her to be kinder to him, so she refrained from rolling her eyes at Kirigin. As a treat.

“You are looking splendid this evening,” he said, eyes roving over her appreciatively. Now Zoya could not help the eye roll- honestly, it was a reflex to stupidity. 

“Then nothing has changed,” she said, already scanning the crowd for a waiter to refill her glass, perhaps with something a little stronger. 

He laughed, which irked her for reasons Zoya could not pinpoint. She had not been particularly funny, and his laugh was high pitched, bordering on childlike. 

“No, I suppose not!” he responded cheerfully. Why was he still here? When were men going to learn their place around her?

There were too many people, and she’d strayed far enough from the dancing ground that neither the King nor the waiters were visible. Perhaps she could retreat to her rooms, bring the night to a close at the base of some kvas, and hope it would be enough to wash away her worries.

“I was hoping to ask you for a dance, Miss Nazyalensky,” Kirigin’s voice snapped her back to her current issue, and Zoya lifted her eyes to the heavens, wondering why Juris hadn’t blessed her with wings to fly away from this place instead.

“Kirigin, listen closely as I do not intend to repeat myself-”

“Kirigin!” 

Now she did freeze. Zoya never froze, but she had been watching him, hadn’t she? And perhaps it was the champagne- she’d had so many glasses, was the room swaying?- or maybe it was the way the cadence of his voice remained neutral despite the very amused tilt to his mouth, but Zoya was relieved to see him. Nikolai brought a hand to rest on Kirigin’s shoulder, successfully turning his attention elsewhere, and Zoya was grateful for it.

He said something to Kirigin, and the man’s face went as red as his hair even though Nikolai was still smiling pleasantly. She caught his eye, wondering why everything seemed detached, as though she was watching events play out before her and was unable to participate in them.

The music faded in and out of focus, along with the clinking of glasses, soft chatter. Saints she needed to leave.

“Zoya?”

The world righted itself around a pair of inquisitive hazel eyes, and Zoya shook her head, forced herself to remain in the present.

“What’s wrong?” Nikolai asked. Her mind only just connected the fact that his hand was at her elbow, steadying her.

“I’m fine,” she muttered, pulling away from his touch. Nikolai nodded, stepping back, though a frown still lingered on his face.

“You haven’t done much dancing, have you?” he asked, his eyes catching on the empty glass in her hand. He quirked a brow at her.

“Find someone to dance with, Nikolai. Your General is fully capable of handling herself,” she said, forcing her words to sound irritable. She couldn’t well admit that she wanted him to stay. No, she needed to remain here, and he had a spot at the center of the room, beneath the glow of chandeliers, calling to him. 

“Was that an offer to dance, Nazyalensky?” Nikolai asked, a dazzling smile spreading across his lips.

“Not at all,” Zoya said with a frown, but Nikolai never could let something drop once it was in his mind.

“Well ‘ _someone’_ is awfully vague, but no matter, I accept all the same.” he let out a resigned sigh and held a hand out to her, eyes gleaming with mischief. 

She raised a brow at him, “I don’t want to dance.”

Nikolai shrugged, almost nonchalant, “very well, I’ll just step away and allow you and Kirigin to return to your… what was that, exactly?”

She narrowed her eyes at him threateningly.

“Ah, the ballad of Nazyalensky and Kirigin,” he singsonged, “tales will be told, my dearest General, generations from now, no doubt- children with fiery hair and stormy eyes-”

Nikolai yelped, a satisfying response to her stepping on his foot. Zoya smiled pleasantly, ignoring the pout Nikolai directed her way.

“What was that you said about dancing?”

* * *

Nikolai felt restless. Today was important, he knew that much, the day that would make or break his reign as king. And yet he’d hardly been able to stand still all morning, an anxious feeling buzzing through his veins, thoughts racing through his mind.

He needed a break. Or a drink.

Zoya’s company was not unlike the latter. He’d tried to seek her out all night long, had not so much as spoken to his General since that morning, which meant Nikolai had not been prepared to see her at all. He’d thought blue was her color, but the more balls and parties she attended, the more certain Nikolai was that every color suited Zoya. 

Except perhaps the ashen pallor that had overtaken her face. He wasn’t sure what had happened, but he doubted Kirigin was the cause of it. No, if Nikolai had to guess from the way she swayed slightly and the barest hint of pink to her cheeks- Zoya Nazyalensky had drunk one too many glasses of champagne that night.

Not that he’d done a better job of remaining clear-headed.

_What a fine pair we make_ , he thought, _the King and his General, drunk before midnight._

He almost laughed but forced himself not to, as he guided Zoya to the center of the ballroom. He met her eyes and had to force air to his lungs. He couldn’t tell how much of his racing heart and scattered thoughts was the drink, and how much was solely due to Zoya’s nearness.

Nikolai let a smile curve his lips, drawing Zoya closer by the waist and linking their hands together as he led them through the same dance routine he’d been through several times that evening. And yet with Zoya, it was different.

Because he was aware of every touch, every inch that separated them when he drew her closer, of how badly he wanted her near him when he pulled back to spin her. The way her stormy eyes rested on him, and the far more relaxed way she stood now.

“It’s nearly time for my speech,” Nikolai said, just to have something other than his thoughts to occupy him, and because he wanted to hear what Zoya had to say. He always did, didn’t he?  
“And what will you tell them?” she asked with a raised brow, “that their worst nightmare has returned to haunt them?” 

He winced, forcing away the memory of the Darkling and his saintforsaken return. Zoya said it casually enough that he knew it had been on her mind for too long. 

“No, actually, I plan to announce the engagement,” said Nikolai, stepping back and drawing Zoya along with him.

She froze, her eyes snapping back to him, “you what?”

“Well, Genya suggested it was due time,” Nikolai began, frowning at her surprise, “the people need reassurance, especially now with the Fjerdans drawing close, and the implications of war are all too clear-”

Something like hurt flashed in Zoya’s eyes, but it was gone quick enough that he was certain it was never there, and then she dropped his hand, stepping away, something cold settling on her face.

Nikolai’s brows drew together in confusion, but Zoya left no room for questions, stepping away from his embrace and disappearing in the crowd before he had a chance to ask anything.

Nikolai stood frozen on the dancefloor, feeling like someone had dumped iced water on his head, shock overtaking him. 

Before he could decide what to do, before his brain could process what had happened, there was the sound of a spoon clinking against glass, and Genya materialized beside him, prepared for anything.

She said a few words he didn’t hear and then everyone’s gaze was trained on Nikolai, the familiar feel of a thousand reliant eyes on him.

Words had been his companion for so long, the right set at the right time, strung together with just enough wit or with a firm enough twist that had a room full of people laughing or crying at his will. He had made the world his puppets for so long he’d forgotten his own strings needed pulling.

And now of all times, he had none.

Nothing to say, not to the soldiers who fought wars with him, or the crowd of people who accepted him as their king, or his own friends who had been there for him through it all.

Because a thousand eyes were on him, but the most important pair was missing.

“Excuse me,” he muttered, before rushing out of the ballroom, forcing a path through the people until he found his way out. 

Until he found his way to _her_.

* * *

It was cold out, but Zoya hardly registered that. The balcony had become a place to escape to, though she never did anticipate who she would want to escape from.

Distantly, she was aware that it was ridiculous- of course it was time to announce his engagement. If it hadn't been tonight, it would have been the following week, or a month from now. Delaying only made the pain worse.

But she had lost herself in his arms for those few moments, letting him draw her close, allowing her heart to speed as his touch lingered a second too long.

The cool air cleared her head almost instantly, reminding her where she was meant to be. At his side, but not _beside_ him. They were soldiers fighting an endless battle, and she could not allow her heart to interfere with the plans laid by the Saints.

_You would make a better queen for Ravka, and for him._

And for once she couldn't tell if the voice was her own or Juris'. 

Zoya let her gaze drift over the garden. It seemed to thrive in chaos, growing greener and bolder, not unlike the residents of this Palace. They all grew and changed and warped themselves to better fit into the future. This cursed, beautiful country's future.

"Zoya," 

She heard him approach before he spoke, but never turned back. She was tired, oh so tired of the way her heart responded to his presence, of the way she'd so desperately wanted to feel for so long. She was tired of pretending he was nothing to her, and tired of the fact that he was more.

"It gets colder every day in this saintforsaken country," she said.

There was enough wind that she could feel his steps come closer, feel the disturbance it caused in the air. 

"Strange, isn't it?" She said, mostly to herself, "I have control over the wind, yet not the weather. The storms yet not the clouds. We can't ask nature for the impossible, but neither does she place this responsibility in our hands."

"It's balanced," Nikolai said. Zoya almost smiled. He understood, of course, even the oddest of her thoughts turned verbal would make sense to Nikolai.

She didn't need the wind to tell her he'd come to stand beside her. There was no possible way _not_ to notice, close as he was. 

Zoya felt the weight of his gaze heavier than a rain filled cloud. She turned to him, allowing herself to memorize how he looked now. His hazel eyes had always been so open to her, pages of an endless book she never wanted to stop reading. Swirls of honey, gold threaded hair. He was watching her with something she couldn't quite place, which was a first. 

"Why did you leave?" he asked quietly, his eyes never leaving hers. 

_If only I had a good reason,_ she thought. 

"You have a speech to give, Nikolai," she said, and her words were almost gentle, but not quite. Blunt edges and softened steel.

"I tried to give it," he said, eyes dropping to where her hand rested on the balcony rail, a small smile touched his lips when he brought his hand to rest over it. Zoya stilled. 

"I found myself unable to." 

"How come?" she asked, brows drawing together. Her heart was going too fast, and his eyes were too kind when they settled on hers, and if she looked too closely she wasn't sure what to do with what she saw. With the warmth and compassion so clearly written on his face. 

"Zoya…" he laughed, then shook his head disbelievingly. "The entire world could fall away just now and it wouldn't matter, as long as I knew you were with me. That you were by me, always, fighting alongside me. Sometimes just having you near is enough to make me believe there's hope, that the future isn't all bitter thoughts and certain doom. I'm melancholy on my best day, and yet you seem to always know what to say, what to do, where to go."

Zoya wasn't sure she was even breathing at this point. She wanted to smack him and tell him to stop being foolish. But she also wanted him to continue, because that meant she wasn't a fool, alone in her fantasy. If she could at least know there was a chance of them working, Saints knew she wouldn't turn away from it. 

"You're right, we can't ask for the impossible- you know I don't believe in such things anyway- but we can ask for this, can't we?" His eyes flicked over her face, lingering on her lips. "We can ask for one more miracle."

"Nikolai…" she tried to force reason out of her mouth, but reason had no place here, reason was before the Saints and the deaths and the war. Reason had not been with them for a very long time, and it had lost its power over her. 

Zoya let reason slip her mind and bridged the distance between them, capturing his lips in a kiss all of nature dared to allow. If Nikolai had had any doubts, they melted alongside her own as one hand tangled in her hair, the other drawing her closer by the waist. If they could have nothing else after today, Zoya was determined to remember him like this. Remember the fire in her blood as their lips parted and crashed together again, remember the way his touch became a higher priority than air and breath lost all meaning as she fisted her hands in his shirt and pulled him closer, closer. 

And perhaps he was right. Perhaps they did deserve just one more miracle. Perhaps tomorrow, they could blame it on the champagne and return to their duties. But for now, the world could pull itself together for one moment, and allow them this bit of freedom in each other's arms. 


End file.
